Why does man kill? He kills for food. And not only food: frequently there must be a beverage.
I am not afraid of death, I just don’t want to be there when it happens.
When I was kidnapped, my parents snapped into action. They rented out my room.
Life is divided into the horrible and the miserable.
Money is better than poverty, if only for financial reasons.
It’s not that I’m afraid to die, I just don’t want to be there when it happens.
Life is full of misery, loneliness, and suffering and it’s all over much too soon.
My grandfather was a very insignificant man, actually. At his funeral his hearse followed the other cars.
Eighty percent of success is showing up.
When I was in school, I cheated on my metaphysics exam: I looked into the soul of the boy sitting next to me.
I was thrown out of college for cheating on the metaphysics exam; I looked into the soul of the boy next to me.
I’d call him a sadistic, hippophilic necrophile, but that would be beating a dead horse.
Of all the wonders of nature, a tree in summer is perhaps the most remarkable; with the possible exception of a moose singing “Embraceable You” in spats.
I was nauseous and tingly all over. I was either in love or I had smallpox.
What is so fascinating about sitting around watching a bunch of pituitary cases stuff a ball through a hoop?